


Dusty Feathers

by chaos_ineffable



Series: Good Omens 30th Anniversary [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley loves Aziraphale, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Omens 30th Anniversary, M/M, Mental self-harm, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_ineffable/pseuds/chaos_ineffable
Summary: Aziraphale panics. He tries to put his wings away but they still refuse to disappear. He folds them to his back and slams them against the chair, wincing when he feels feathers snap. He sits in what he hopes is a casual position and looks to the door with mild surprise. “Hello, my dear! What a pleasant surprise!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens 30th Anniversary [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729684
Comments: 9
Kudos: 287





	Dusty Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of mental self-harm in this one. It's only in a couple of paragraphs and relates with self-esteem issues. If that's a problem for anyone, please be careful while reading.
> 
> The prompt for this one is 'Miscommunication'.

The bookshop phone rings, echoing through the shelves. Aziraphale, seated in the backroom with his wings in his lap, curses and moves to answer the blasted thing. He tries to put his wings away but they refuse to vanish into the ether, just like they have been for the last thirty minutes. He grumbles and makes his way towards the phone.

His wings flutter around him, smacking into shelves and piles of books and making a right mess of things before he manages to fold them between his shoulder blades. He rolls his shoulders, sniffs at the new mess he now has to deal with, and answers the phone. “I’m afraid we are closed. You will have to try again some other time.”

“It’s me, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley! What a pleasant surprise!” His wings give an excited rustle behind him and he hopes that Crowley can’t hear the sound. “What can I do for you, dear boy?”

If Crowley heard the sound of rustling feathers, he doesn’t say so. “What are you up to, angel? Thought I could pop over with a bottle of something and we could discuss…things. Ducks or musicals or something of the like.”

Aziraphale glances back at his wings and winces. They look awful. It has been at least three hundred years since he groomed them. Or has it been five hundred? Either way, they are a disaster and they itch something awful. He thinks about Crowley’s impeccable wings, feathers always in place and shining. He couldn’t possibly let the demon come over while Aziraphale grooms his wings. That is out of the question. Not to mention terribly embarrassing.

“That does sound lovely, dear, but I’m afraid I’m quite busy at the moment. Perhaps you could drop by in a few hours. Say around eight?” He should be finished by then. He can’t remember grooming ever taking longer than two hours. 

“Yeah, sounds good, angel. See you.” Crowley sounds disappointed but he doesn’t push for once, which Aziraphale is very grateful for.

He returns to his chair in the backroom and folds a wing into his lap. The sooner he gets started the sooner he will finish.

\---

Two hours later and Aziraphale is ready to scream. His feathers are worse off than he thought. They are matted and filthy and nearly impossible to groom without tearing away entire sections. 

He’s barely finished with his secondaries on his first wing but it doesn’t look like he’s done much of anything. His wing is still unkempt, feathers sticking up every which way and a thick coating of dust turning the white feathers grey. He looks over his other wing and sighs. Somehow, it looks even worse. 

“Some angel I am. Can’t even groom my own wings properly,” he mumbles into the quiet bookshop. “Suppose I should call Crowley and cancel. I refuse to let him see me like this.”

He stands with a heavy sigh only to stumble back into his chair when the bookshop doors slam open. “What in the name-!”

“Hi, angel! I got bored. Figured you wouldn’t mind if I dropped by a little early. Brought a couple of bottles with me so you don’t have to dip into your own stash.” Crowley saunters into the shop, his glasses dangling from his shirt and his face lit up with a wicked grin.

Aziraphale panics. He tries to put his wings away but they still refuse to disappear. He folds them to his back and slams them against the chair, wincing when he feels feathers snap. He sits in what he hopes is a casual position and looks to the door with mild surprise. “Hello, my dear! What a pleasant surprise!”

Crowley wanders in, looking bemused. “Not really. You knew I was coming, angel. And it’s not like this is the first time I’ve arrived early.”

Aziraphale notices his fingers fidgeting and grabs the nearest book to force them to be still. “Yes, of course. I just mean it’s always a pleasant surprise when you’re around.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow and Aziraphale silently curses. The itch that has plagued his wings spreads to his shoulder blades and he has to fight the urge to loudly curse.

“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll tell you what is really a pleasant surprise. I found this,” he thumps one of the bottles of wine onto the table, “in my storage. Completely forgot I had it.”

Aziraphale pretends to look at the label, not daring to grab the bottle in case moving worsens the itch. “Lovely.”

Crowley squints at him, his mouth pressing into an unamused line. “I also found one of those old copies of The Canterbury Tales you’re going on about. Flipped through it. Complete rubbish, can’t imagine why you’d want it in your shop. Figured I’d do you a favor and burned it.”

The itch is spreading through his whole back now. It burns. He clenches his fingers around his book to keep from scratching at it. The feathers he snapped in his urgency to hide are beginning to throb, which is not helping his situation. He tries to focus on what Crowley is saying but he can’t stop thinking about that damned itch. He gives Crowley a little smile and replies, “Good for you, dear.”

Crowley hisses and thumps the other bottle onto the table. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I’m perfectly fine!”

“You are not. You’re clearly hiding something. Tell me, angel.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Crowley. Be a dear and get us some glasses?” Aziraphale huffs and reaches for one of the bottles of wine, leaning forward just enough to grab it. He doesn’t have time to realize his mistake before his wings take advantage of his new position and explode from his back, showering broken feathers and dust everywhere.

Crowley falls onto the couch, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Aziraphale wants to hide under a blanket, or even better, just disappear into the ether until the demon forgets all about this.

“Angel, what- how- When did you last groom your wings?” There’s no judgement in Crowley’s voice, only confusion and sympathy. 

Aziraphale can’t decide if that’s worse. He folds his wings back up and straightens his shoulders, clenching his hands together over his stomach. “That’s none of your concern.”

Crowley is standing up now. He hasn’t taken his eyes from Aziraphale’s wings. He doesn’t look disgusted but Aziraphale can’t decipher his expression. He closes his eyes and builds up the courage to kick Crowley out.

Then fingers are tracing his feathers, smoothing over broken shafts and dust-covered primaries. 

Aziraphale flinches from the touch, pressing his wings closer to his back and recoiling from where Crowley is stood beside him. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

Crowley’s demeanor changes instantly. His face loses all emotion, turning stony and unreadable. His shoulders and back stiffen until he is standing ramrod straight. His glasses disappear from their spot on his shirt and take their usual place over his eyes. He smiles, cold and sharp. “Right. Don’t know what I was thinking. Can’t let a demon touch your wings, can you? Might taint some of that holiness.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Aziraphale pleads, reaching for the demon. “I just-”

“Don’t worry, angel, I know exactly what you meant.” Crowley is already headed for the door, too far away for Aziraphale to grab him. “Enjoy the wine.” Then he’s gone, the doors closing with a bang behind him.

Aziraphale stares after him. How is it possible to know someone for so long and still get it wrong every time? He glares at his wings, the feel of Crowley’s fingers a phantom warmth against the dusty feathers. The sight of them disgusts him. He tries to vanish them but they stubbornly stay right where they are. 

He knows that if he would just clean them they would disappear but he can’t bring himself to touch them. Not when they look like this. Not after what he did. He wants to ignore them, wallow in his misery and let that blasted itch be his punishment for being such a wretched friend. 

So that’s what he does. For three days, he doesn’t touch his wings. He keeps the shop closed, the windows shuttered, the wine unopened. He sits in his favorite chair and he thinks.

He thinks about ways to fix this, ways to apologize, to tell Crowley how important he is in Aziraphale’s life. He’s never been good at apologizing. He’s never really had to, he realizes now. Crowley always did the apologizing for him. It’s about time that changed.

He waits until afternoon, to raise the chances of Crowley being awake, and dials that familiar number. 

It rings through to the machine and Aziraphale listens to Crowley’s recorded voice, his heart thudding against his ribs. “Hello, dear. I’m not sure if you can hear me right now. I’ve never quite got the hang of that new machine of yours. Anyway, I do hope you can hear me. And if not, I hope you will listen eventually. Though I could hardly blame you for ignoring me completely.” He pauses to gather himself. He didn’t call to ramble at Crowley. “I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted last you were in the shop. If we could talk about it over lunch, perhaps, I would appreciate it. I have several things I would like to say and I feel they would be easier in person. I’ll be seeing you, I hope.”

An hour passes with no response. He paces the front room, idly itching at his back. He wonders how long is considered decent to wait between calls. 

He gives it another hour and tries again. “Hello again. I just wanted to- Oh dear, I really mucked things up, didn’t I? I assure you, Crowley, my actions the other day had nothing to do with what you are. I was embarrassed and I couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing my wings like that, not when yours are preened to perfection. It was foolish of me, I realize that now but, my dear- Well, nevermind. Please call.”

He pauses before hanging up, hoping that Crowley will answer with a clever retort. He sighs when there’s nothing.

Two more days pass. His wings, apparently giving up any hope of a grooming, allow him to vanish them. He can still feel them itching but it’s muted now, easier to ignore.

He calls Crowley again. “Crowley, there’s a new café opening near your flat. I was thinking we could go for a spot of lunch once you’ve woken up. Assuming you are asleep. I do hope you’re asleep and not off somewhere needing rescue.” A bitter laugh forces itself out of his throat. “No, you’ve never needed rescuing, have you? That’s always been my bit. Stupid, reckless angel always getting into trouble, that’s me.”

He can feel tears blistering at the corners of his eyes. “I miss you, Crowley.”

There’s a click on the other line and Crowley’s voice growls, “Don’t hang up.”

Aziraphale stares at the receiver in confusion then drops it when a stream of black particles pours out of it. Crowley takes a few stumbling steps when he finishes materializing and swings around to glare daggers at Aziraphale. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Aziraphale doesn’t know how to respond.

“Calling yourself stupid. What the fuck was that, angel?You’re not allowed to self-deprecate. You’re the happy one.”

Aziraphale doesn’t feel like the happy one. He blinks back tears that are still threatening to fall. “I hurt you. Again. I always hurt you and I’ve never apologized for it. So, I’m apologizing now.”

Crowley shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize, angel. Not to me. I get it. You’re you and I’m me and we can’t touch. It’s fine.”

Aziraphale wants to throw something. “It’s not fine! I’m barely an angel, Crowley! I defied Heaven, lied to God, and fell in love with a demon! I can’t even keep my own wings groomed, for Heaven’s sake! Do you know how shameful that is? I’m a perfect angel and yet my wings are always filthy. I do have to apologize to you because I have spent so long acting like I’m better than you when we’re the same.”

Silence hangs between them until Crowley clears his throat. “Is that why you didn’t want me touching your wings? Cause you’re ashamed of them?”

Aziraphale nods, not daring to meet Crowley’s eye. The tears he’s been holding back finally overflow and drip to the floor. He really is pathetic.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley’s voice is soft, softer than Aziraphale has ever heard it. He moves forward until he’s close enough to pull Aziraphale into a gentle hug. “You never have to be ashamed of yourself around me.” He brushes a hand between the angel’s shoulder blades, where his wings attach. “Do you want me to help you groom them?”

Aziraphale nods into Crowley’s shoulder. “Please. I can’t do it by myself.”

“Okay. That’s okay,” Crowley pulls away and leads Aziraphale to the couch. “Lay down on your stomach and pull your wings out.”

Aziraphale does as instructed. He squeezes his eyes shut when he unfurls his wings. He doesn’t want to see them.

Crowley sits on the edge of the couch by Aziraphale’s hip and takes a wing onto his lap. He strokes his fingers over the feathers for a moment before getting to work. “Your wings are beautiful.” He whispers after a few minutes.

Aziraphale snorts. “You don’t have to lie to me, Crowley.”

“I’m not! They’re big and fluffy and gorgeous. Just like the angel they’re attached to.”

Aziraphale buries his face in his arms to hide his blush. Crowley laughs at him and continues gently preening.

Neither of them speak after that. It takes hours. Hours of carefully plucking broken feathers, folding twisted feathers back into place, and oiling each feather to shining perfection. Crowley taps Aziraphale on the shoulder when he’s finished and stands, dusting off his hands with a proud grin. “There you go. Good as new. What do you think?”

Aziraphale doesn’t have the words. His wings have never looked this good. They shine, just like Crowley’s. He laughs and flaps them once. “They look incredible, my dear. Thank you!”

He’s hugging Crowley before he’s even aware he’s moved. He freezes but the demon wraps him in a returning hug with a content sigh. He pulls away after a moment, looking serious. “We still need to talk about a few things, you know.”

Aziraphale hums. “Do we? I think we’ve both made it quite clear that we love each other.”

Crowley barks out a laugh. “You’re feeling very confident today. But I suppose you’re right.” He hugs Aziraphale a little tighter. “By the way, angel, I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks for reading!


End file.
